


baby, i was born this way

by MangaFreak15



Series: SakuAtsu in love [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, M/M, Minor Sexual Content, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Pro Volleyball Player Sakusa Kiyoomi, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi, Stand Alone, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, as in blink and you'll miss it - Freeform, i am soft okay, my boi just wants to spoil atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangaFreak15/pseuds/MangaFreak15
Summary: It’s not until three months into their relationship that Atsumu realizes, with a sort of dawning horror, that behind the prickly exterior, witty retorts, too-blunt-jerk attitude, extremely competitive nature, and intense fear of germs, the guy who brings his own utensils to eat out, the guy who can’t compliment anyone without looking pissed off, the guy who can’t even hold Atsumu’s hand in public without liberal use of hand sanitizer,thatSakusa Kiyoomi, is somehow, secretly, the Doting Type™.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: SakuAtsu in love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169279
Comments: 6
Kudos: 304
Collections: SakuAtsu Fics for Midterm Procrastination





	baby, i was born this way

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted some soft SakuAtsu okay, don't @ me
> 
> and I totally hc that Kiyoomi is just a giant softy inside the sea urchin exterior

It starts, as most things tend to start, with something very small.

Size is relative; what may be small to one person may not be small for another. For Atsumu, this 'small thing' is a single favor. Whoever wins their service ace competition in the Adlers VS Jackals match could ask for anything from the other, as long as it was within reason. Sakusa thinks that potentially owing _anything_ to Miya Atsumu may as well be a death sentence, but accepts anyway.

Sakusa gets the first service ace of the match, but Atsumu wins the war, grinning from ear to ear in delight when he realizes that he just got one over _the_ Sakusa Kiyoomi.

He corners the wing spiker in the locker room after they shower off the grime from the game. Sakusa crosses his arms defensively, glowering at him beneath the surgical mask already stretched taut over his face.

"Well, spit it out. What do you want from me?" he mutters.

"Yer so prickly, Omi-kun," Atsumu sighs, sidling up next to him. "Can't a guy ask someone out without gettin' shanked?"

Sakusa starts, momentarily dropping his grouchy face in surprise. Then his brows pinch together, more annoyed than before. "Are you joking?"

"Course not, that'd be a dick move even fer me. So? Will ya go on a date with me, Omi-kun?" Atsumu asks hopefully.

Sakusa looks at him like Atsumu suddenly grew two horns and a tail. Atsumu can see him withdraw into himself a bit, his shoulders tucked in, but mostly just watches his eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul, right? No matter how closed off his body language is, Atsumu can see the emotions warring in those thundercloud eyes. And vice versa, where Sakusa can see the naked, open truth of him, because Atsumu really doesn't have anything to hide.

"...Why?" he finally says.

Atsumu arches an eyebrow. "Why what? Why did I ask ya out? Why did I ask fer that as my favor?"

"Both."

The blond setter shakes his head with a laugh. "Omi-Omi, why _else_ would someone ask another person out? Because I _like_ ya, silly," he replies. If he was feeling bolder, he would flick the other man on the forehead.

"But _why?"_ Sakusa persists. "Most people are put off by all— _this."_ He gestures across his entire body. "And so are you—at least, that was the impression I got from you before."

"People change, Omi-kun. Just so ya know, I happen to like all o' _this,"_ Atsumu teases, mimicking the gesture. "If ya really want the details though, then I like yer hair. I like yer face. I like yer serves and receives and yer freaky wrists, I like how clean ya are, I like yer blunt attitude even if ya sometimes piss me off, I like yer competitive streak, I like how much ya trust me on the court, and I guess, I just really like ya, Omi-Omi." Throughout Atsumu's little speech, Sakusa grows redder and redder until he's full on blushing beneath the mask. He tilts his head away so that he doesn't have to look at Atsumu directly, because he’s too embarrassed. It's adorable.

“You—” Sakusa starts and stops, lost for words. Atsumu waits with a patience that he hadn’t known he had in him until now. Sakusa slowly turns so that he’s facing Atsumu. “You’re serious. You like me.” He sounds disbelieving, and well, Atsumu can’t blame him. But for all of Atsumu’s terrible jokes and flirty, insincere personality, this is one thing that he won’t budge on. He likes Sakusa Kiyoomi in all his terrible, mysophobic, too-blunt-jerk glory. If he was in Sakusa’s shoes, he’d probably think he was cracked in the head, too.

“I like ya,” Atsumu repeats firmly. He’ll say it again as many times as he needs to in order to get it through Sakusa’s thick skull. “I like ya a lot more than I thought I would. I like ya a lot more than I _should._ So whaddya say?” He shifts so that he’s barely outside of what he perceives as Sakusa’s personal bubble. He smiles, and goes for the kill, “Will ya go on a date with me, Kiyoomi?”

The full-body shudder that runs through Sakusa’s body at the sound of his given name leaving Atsumu’s lips is rather fascinating to watch. Atsumu has been watching him long enough to tell when he’s shuddering from disgust or from something else. And that was definitely on the ‘something else’ side.

“…Okay.” Sakusa’s voice is whisper-quiet in the locker room.

For a moment, Atsumu thinks he’s misheard him. “What?”

Sakusa sighs, “I said ‘okay.’ I’ll go on a date with you.”

Atsumu stares at him, then his entire face lights up with joy. “Really?”

The dark-haired athlete nods. “But on one condition,” he continues, holding up one finger. “Change your favor to something else.”

The smile freezes on Atsumu’s face, and confusion takes over. “Wait, why?” he questions, a tiny pit of fear gnawing in his stomach.

Sakusa digs a pair of gloves out of his jacket pockets and snaps them on. Atsumu gasps when the spiker reaches out and actually touches his face, the cool latex sliding over his skin. “Because,” Sakusa begins evenly, “I’m not going to date you as a favor. I’m going to date you because for some reason you like me and I like you, so I’d rather not start something that will only last for a day. I don’t do things half-assed like that.”

Atsumu claps one of his hands over Sakusa’s, the one that’s tracing the curve of his cheek. He can’t stop smiling. “It’s a deal, Omi-kun.” They stand there in silence for a couple minutes.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Sakusa asks suddenly.

Atsumu thinks he knows where this is going. “Yep,” he says, popping the p. “Anything ta make sure ya said yes.”

Sakusa snorts, his hand sliding to the back of Atsumu’s head, gloved fingers tenderly cradling his nape. He unhooks his mask with the other hand. Atsumu’s eyes automatically drop down to his mouth, where the edges are slightly curled upwards in a smile. Sakusa’s lips look very pretty and pink against his pale skin.

“Then what are you waiting for?” the spiker drawls, leaning in closer.

Atsumu meets him halfway in lieu of answering verbally.

* * *

It’s the little things that most people overlook. Things like picking up your partner’s favorite brand of hand sanitizer on the way home because you know it’s running low. Atsumu observes his boyfriend and is observed in return, burning each other’s habits and routines into memory. It’s only been a month since they started dating, but Atsumu can confidently say that it’s been the happiest month of his life.

Some time during that month, Sakusa becomes Kiyoomi. He goes from being Atsumu’s massive, untouchable crush to a boyfriend who tries his best to accommodate Atsumu’s needs despite his mysophobic tendencies. He’ll kiss Atsumu good morning and good night, shyly take his hand in public when Atsumu’s in a mood, cook him food when Atsumu complains about being hungry after practice.

Atsumu does as much as he can for Kiyoomi, too. He buys extra sanitizer, wipes, and mouthwash at the store. He keeps his apartment clean and tidy so that Kiyoomi can come over and they can make out without wasting any time. He’ll ask Osamu to make extra umeboshi onigiri on days when Kiyoomi is too tired to make anything for dinner.

Things are going well.

Then Christmas eve rolls around—the day that’s considered the most romantic holiday in Japan. And Atsumu can’t help but stare when Kiyoomi brings him to Harutaka, an extremely fancy sushi restaurant in Ginza, Tokyo, during their two-week long break from volleyball practice.

Atsumu knows that they’re both professional V. League Division 1 players and make bank from sponsorships and such, but he’s still a country bumpkin at heart and looking at the price tags on some of these things gives him a minor heart attack.

Kiyoomi is completely unbothered, navigating through the streets of Tokyo with ease. Damn city boy. Atsumu sticks close to his side as they walk out of the Shimbashi station in their business casual wear.

Harutaka is awash with creamy walls and wooden accents. It’s neat and clean, to the point where Kiyoomi doesn’t even bother pulling out his own set of utensils to eat with. Atsumu feels incredibly underdressed and maybe slightly intimidated by the prices of a sushi restaurant that’s worthy of two Michelin stars, but the moment Kiyoomi tells him he can order as much otoro as he wants, all thoughts of the bill go flying right out of the window. Atsumu is a country boy through and through, and like _hell_ he’s going to waste this opportunity to gorge himself on the best fatty tuna that money can buy.

Atsumu catches Kiyoomi watching him more than once, a soft smile on his face that warms Atsumu to the core, knowing that that smile is reserved specifically for him.

They walk around afterwards, bellies filled with good food and sake. It’s cold out, so Atsumu grabs Kiyoomi’s hand and stuffs it into the pocket of his jacket, grinning when Kiyoomi shoots him an exasperated look and shifts so that they’re practically leaning into each other as they walk.

The wing spiker is wearing the face mask that Atsumu specifically custom ordered for him for their first month anniversary, made of soft, breathable, moisture-wicking black fabric with gold stitching and adjustable earloops. When Kiyoomi had first put it on, Atsumu had been so struck by how _good_ it had looked on him that he hadn’t spared another moment’s thought before jumping him right there in the living room of his apartment.

They were very late to practice the next day.

The bright lights of Tokyo wash over them, lighting the city up despite the late hour. There is a mini Christmas market going on nearby, which Atsumu happily drags Kiyoomi to so he can ooh and aah over various items. He buys a matching knit beanie, scarf, and gloves set for his boyfriend to keep him warm and help him avoid germs. Kiyoomi lets him, occasionally indulging in a treat that Atsumu gets from the stalls lining the streets.

Then Kiyoomi stops at one of the vendors while Atsumu is distracted, his eyes lingering on a particular object. “How much for these?” he asks, pulling out his wallet.

The vendor, a middle-aged woman with crow lines around her eyes, answers, “A matching set is 5500 yen.” Kiyoomi hands over the appropriate amount and the woman bags up his purchase and hands it to him.

“Whatcha got there, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu says, trying to steal the paper bag so that he can look at whatever’s inside.

Kiyoomi keeps the bag away from him, his eyes crinkling in amusement as Atsumu whines at him. “I’ll show them to you later,” he promises, taking Atsumu’s hand again. Momentarily appeased, Atsumu proceeds to tour the rest of the Christmas market with great enthusiasm, both him and Kiyoomi attempting to shower each other with gifts.

It’s easily the best Christmas eve that Atsumu has ever had.

When they return to Atsumu’s apartment for the night, Kiyoomi stops him right in front of the door to give him a kiss, which Atsumu returns eagerly. Then he takes out the little brown paper bag containing the purchase that he hadn’t wanted to show Atsumu in the middle of the busy market. Kiyoomi shakes the bag and two keychains fall out on his palm.

One is a chibi kitsune with a mischievous grin, two small opals set in place of its eyes. The other is a chibi kamaitachi with a beautiful set of aquamarines for eyes. The kitsune keychain also has little silver suns strung on the same keyring, while the kamaitachi has little silver crescent moons hanging from it.

Kiyoomi takes one of Atsumu’s hands and puts the kamaitachi keychain on his palm. “The kitsune reminds me of you,” he says when Atsumu looks up at him with the most soulful sepia eyes. “So I hope that the kamaitachi will remind you of me.”

Atsumu sniffles, “Omi!” and throws his arms around his startled boyfriend. “I love it! Thank ya so much!” Kiyoomi smiles behind the mask and cards his fingers through Atsumu’s hair.

“Merry Christmas, Atsumu.”

Happy, giddy, and drunk on food and love, Atsumu doesn’t think too much about why Kiyoomi keeps doing these things, like buying him expensive things and pampering him. He just wants to enjoy these moments for as long as he can.

* * *

They say that when you get it, you _get it._

It’s not until three months into their relationship that Atsumu realizes, with a sort of dawning horror, that behind the prickly exterior, witty retorts, too-blunt-jerk attitude, extremely competitive nature, and intense fear of germs, the guy who brings his own utensils to eat out, the guy who can’t compliment anyone without looking pissed off, the guy who can’t even hold Atsumu’s hand in public without liberal use of hand sanitizer, _that_ Sakusa Kiyoomi, is somehow, secretly, the Doting Type™.

It makes a horrifying amount of sense when he thinks back to just how much money Kiyoomi has spent on him these past few months, from the expensive otoro sushi to ensuring that Atsumu’s favorite brand of coffee never runs out. Kiyoomi cooks him dinner and cuddles with him on the couch when they’re watching old movie reruns late at night until they fall asleep. On the court, his spikes are even more devastating than before, especially when he and Atsumu sync up at just the right moment and Kiyoomi absolutely blows the defense away. Then he’ll walk right up to Atsumu and high-five him, despite rejecting body contact with anyone else on the team.

On a day where Atsumu wins their service ace competition again, Kiyoomi wastes no time walking into the showers with him and blowing him right there in the stall, Atsumu biting down on his own hand the whole time to muffle the sound of his moans, thighs shaking with the effort to stay standing.

They go to the Jackals’ celebratory dinner hand in hand, the team ribbing them with teasing remarks as they squish up against each other in the izakaya.

“It’s rare to see you come out with us, Sakusa,” Meian comments, eyes twinkling as he raises his cup of sake in the air as a toast.

“Yeah, Sakkun! You should eat with us more often!” Bokuto laughs boisterously, slapping his hand against the low wooden table. Inunaki’s hands shoot out to prevent the energetic wing spiker from knocking over the plates of hiyayakko and edamame that are already on the table.

“It’s too noisy with you,” Kiyoomi deadpans, ripping open the towel packet on the table to wipe his hands before he takes off his mask. “It’s easier to go home and cook in peace.”

Bokuto bursts out laughing, the jab at his voice volume sliding off of him like water. Atsumu grins and can’t help himself when he says, “But ya like it when _I’m_ noisy, don’tcha?”

“Because I can shut you up easily, but Bokuto just doesn’t have an off switch,” Kiyoomi replies, lacing their fingers together under the table. Atsumu flushes pink despite not having had a single drop of alcohol yet, and he flushes even harder when Kiyoomi drops a quick kiss onto his cheek, which earns them a few hoots and whistles from their teammates. Deep down, he’s pleased that they’ve progressed far enough that Kiyoomi isn’t so shy about little displays of public affection anymore.

Hinata drools when several plates of steaming yakitori and beef kushiyaki are delivered to their table. “Looks so good! Thanks for the food, Meian-san!” he says, diving in right away. Everyone choruses their thanks to the Jackals’ captain as they dig in to the food and sip at their drinks, rewinding after a long day playing against VC Kanagawa.

When Atsumu and Kiyoomi leave an hour later, they aren’t drunk, but they are pleasantly buzzed. Atsumu leans into his boyfriend’s side as they make their way back to Kiyoomi’s apartment. It’s quiet, the only sounds around them made by the occasional car passing by or families enjoying their time together after dinner.

Just as they reach the apartment, Kiyoomi stops and turns so that Atsumu is facing him. The blond setter blinks slowly up at him, registering the uncharacteristically nervous furrow of his eyebrows. His insides go cold, which sobers him up some. Kiyoomi’s not about to break up with him, is he?

“What’s on yer mind, Omi?” he asks softly.

Kiyoomi’s eyes dart away for a moment. He seems to struggle for a minute with his words. “Atsumu… I know that it’s only been three months, but I—” Atsumu’s heart lurches in his chest and he clenches his fists inside his coat, “—I want to know if… if you’d like to move in with me.”

…Oh. Atsumu is torn between laughing in relief and wanting to smack himself over the head for being stupid enough to think that Kiyoomi is already tired of him.

He settles for the third option: kissing his boyfriend and whispering “of course I want to” against Kiyoomi’s lips.

To anyone else who doesn’t know Kiyoomi, it would look like his face doesn’t change one bit at the good news. But Atsumu is close enough to see his gray eyes brighten, the wrinkle in his brow smooth out, and the small, happy smile that softens his face.

Atsumu likes him even when he’s being a terrible, mysophobic, too-blunt jerk, but he loves him like this, glowing underneath the warm light of the apartment hallway, his bare fingers skimming across Atsumu’s cheeks and through the shorter strands of hair at his nape, a quiet happiness radiating from his entire six-foot-three frame.

* * *

The peak of the unexpected pampering comes in the form of a massage on their one-year anniversary. Atsumu hadn't thought that Sakusa "touch me and you die" Kiyoomi would know how to do a hand massage, much less a full-body massage, but apparently he does.

Kiyoomi vehemently denies it when Atsumu slyly asks if Kiyoomi learned it just for him because Atsumu has complained one too many times about muscle soreness even after doing all his stretches, but Atsumu doesn't miss how flustered he looks after the question.

"Do you want the massage or not?" Kiyoomi grumbles, tapping his foot against the wooden floor of his apartment. "I could always offer it to someone else instead—"

"No, I want it!" Atsumu says quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I gotta shower first, right?"

Kiyoomi flings a bathrobe at him, "Wear that when you're done."

Atsumu catches it and offers his boyfriend a wicked smirk. "Oh, I see. Ya just wanna get me naked so ya can have yer way with me," he purrs, snickering at the withering glare that Kiyoomi sends his way. "Ya don't need to give me a massage fer that, y'know? I'd be happy ta bare it all if ya ask—"

"If you're not done in ten minutes, I'll rescind the offer."

Atsumu is in and out in seven minutes, throwing his towel haphazardly over his sopping hair as he flings the bathroom door open and struts into their bedroom. Kiyoomi is waiting for him, turning over a bottle of lavender-scented massage oil in his hands. He rolls his eyes when Atsumu walks in.

“Did you even shower properly?” he says, exasperated. He puts the bottle down and goes over to Atsumu to towel his hair dry.

“I did! I’m just excited,” Atsumu laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed so that Kiyoomi has easier access to his hair. “‘Sides, I like havin’ yer hands on me, Omi-Omi.”

“I knew that you had an ulterior motive.” Kiyoomi removes the towel so that he can smooth down the rat’s nest that Atsumu’s hair has become. He tosses the towel into the laundry hamper in the corner. “Done. Now lay on your stomach. Robe off.”

Atsumu makes a show of slipping the bathrobe off, knowing that he has Kiyoomi’s full attention on him. He smirks at the heat simmering in his boyfriend’s eyes as the robe pools on the floor, leaving him completely naked on their bed. He lifts one leg, flexing his thigh muscles languidly, and almost laughs when Kiyoomi fumbles with the bottle of massage oil. He turns over on his hands and knees, wiggling his ass suggestively, and winking provocatively to see just how much he can rile the other athlete up. He won’t say no to a good fuck or three after the massage.

“On your stomach. Now,” Kiyoomi rasps, squeezing the bottle so hard that the lid looks like it’s about to pop off.

Atsumu decides that’s enough teasing. He can definitely see that Kiyoomi’s half-hard already. He slides forward so that he’s flat on the bed, face turned slightly to the side so that he can breathe.

The oil is cool when it drips on to his skin, but it quickly warms up when Kiyoomi slowly rubs it into Atsumu’s clean skin. Atsumu closes his eyes, letting his other senses take over so that he can thoroughly enjoy the massage.

Kiyoomi alternates between a gentle glide and firm kneading, pushing and pulling Atsumu’s muscles until the knots in his neck and upper back loosen up. Atsumu can’t help groaning into the pillow as he melts on to the bed like a useless puddle of goo. God, he can die happy now. His sexy touch-repulsed boyfriend is giving him a damn good massage, good enough to rival a professional masseur. What was that about him thinking that it was odd that Kiyoomi was the Doting Type? He’ll happily shut up and never think such thoughts ever again if _this_ is what he gets to look forward to every day that he’s with Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi doesn’t just stop there, he puts his hands all over Atsumu. His shoulders, his back, his thighs, his calves, his arms, his hands, his feet. There’s not even anything sexual about it at all. Atsumu could cry at how much he’s getting pampered.

_Suck on that, Samu! I’m definitely livin’ a happier life than ya,_ Atsumu thinks in a daze.

An hour and a half later, Kiyoomi sits back and declares that he’s done. Atsumu can’t move. He’s so utterly blissed out that he’s become one with the bed. In fact, he’s so relaxed that he almost forgets that he had been trying to get Kiyoomi to have sex with him earlier. He would like to get into it now, but honestly, he’s completely boneless. He doesn’t even know if he has the energy to spare for sex right now.

Kiyoomi leans over him with the smuggest grin he’s ever seen on his partner’s face. “That good, huh?” he says, a soft huff of laughter leaving his lips.

Atsumu tries to muster up a reply, but all that comes out is “hhnnghhh,” and it makes Kiyoomi laugh at him.

“If you’re tired, go ahead and sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up,” the dark-haired man says, gently re-arranging Atsumu’s body until he’s beneath the sheets. He pulls the comforter over him and tucks him in, even kissing him on the forehead and wishing him goodnight.

God, his boyfriend is so… so _perfect._ Atsumu doesn’t think anyone will believe him if he tells them that Sakusa Kiyoomi is a giant fuckin’ softy at heart, but that’s okay. He can keep this side of his boyfriend all to himself.

“I love ya, Omi,” he slurs, dozing off.

He feels Kiyoomi’s fingers stroke through his hair as he falls asleep, Kiyoomi’s low voice murmuring by his ear, “I love you, too, Atsumu. Happy anniversary.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone catch the HTTYD reference? lol
> 
> Harutaka is a real Michelin star sushi restaurant in Japan, but ofc I've never been, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Please leave a comment before you go~


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